"Lovely People"

My photography project "A Dozen Roses" was a lot of fun to do, and being able to share that little bit of joy with the children in the photos was worth all the effort, and more.

But now I've got another idea, and I'm going to need 10 people to help me complete it. Let me explain how the idea came to be, and what my goal is in it.  It began with the song "Eleanor Rigby" by The Beatles. For years, I misunderstood the line "I look at all the lonely people." as not saying "lonely" but "lovely". Maybe that was a subliminal message McCartney was aiming for: That all the lonely people are actually lovely people. I've always believed that: Everyone feels lonely sometimes, and some more than others, but they are all beautiful.

The next was a part of Sesame Street's clips from back when I was a kid called "People in Your Neighborhood".

So that got me to thinking about all the people I meet from day to day. Maybe just in passing. Not my mailman, or the people I see at church, or my co-workers, or customers, because those are people I have to meet and interact with (Not that that is a bad thing, mind you.) and they also would not be people I just met in passing. The people I'm thinking about are people that walk in and out of my life that I might have had the opportunity to stop and meet, but instead, I just let walk by.

So what my vision for this would be is capturing a photo of 10 people. A single photo of each. People that it would be easy to just let walk by. Or that it would be easy for me to just walk by. Taking that photo, and creating a snapshot of who that person is. Capturing their role in life, and not necessarily in my life, but in theirs. Finding out who they are, what their favorite music is, where they like to go on vacation, and where they are on the walk of life.

To take an interest in them, and let them know that they are important.

When this idea first happened, I had no idea where to begin. Because it's hard doing this sort of thing when you live in Columbus, GA. If I lived in Atlanta, I could walk down Peachtree Street or through Piedmont Park, sit down next to someone, strike up a conversation, tell them about my vision for this, and say "Want to be in a photo?" In a big city like Atlanta, 9 out of 10 people (most likely) would beam and say "Sure!". As an example, the last time I was in Atlanta, I saw a family sitting at dinner outside a hotel, and her kids were wearing "Belle" costumes. I asked the mom if I could go up to the second floor and get a photo of their little family just being "them". Unposed, unscripted. Mom smiled and said "Sure, that's fine. Whatever."

And so it happened:

If I tried this same move in Columbus, it would never work.

And I have tried.

I met a homeless man once out on the river. He and I talked for almost half an hour, and then I asked him if I could do this for him. He got very nervous and said "Oh no. No. The police are always watching me. Always. No. I have to go. I'm sorry."

I saw an elderly woman in the grocery store with her two grandkids pulling her in different directions, and the woman said "Could you help me? I need to reach that cereal up there." I got the box for her, and we talked for a bit. After sharing stories about kids and how long we'd each lived here, I told her about my idea. She nervously began fiddling with items in her purse and said "Um, no. I don't think so. That's an awkward thing to ask me, you know? I need to go. Bye."

I was getting my oil changed one day, and the person doing the actual work on my car was a man with lots of tattoos and scars. We were talking about car stuff and how he got to be a mechanic, and after a few minutes of this, I told him about my idea. He wiped his hands on a towel and said "Nah, I'm not into that. That sounds like an artsy thing. I'm sure you'll find someone. I'm just not comfortable in front of a camera."

I saw a family in the park once. A dad, a mom, and their three kids that were triplets. I talked with dad for a few minutes, and mom was smiling and interacting also. I asked them if they would let me. Mom got this strange look on her face, and dad said "Well, I don't know. We're kind of private." That was the end of that.

So I kept striking out. I finally kind-of gave up on this idea. Then one day at work, a customer came up to me and asked about finding a book. This happens all the time, because it's my job, and I love it. I talked with her for a bit, and I figured "Why not? The worst she can say is no."

She agreed.

Oh my gosh, I could have fallen on my butt!

But I didn't because that would have pretty much ended that opportunity.

So now I have one person, and I need 9 more.

And this is where I need YOUR help. Obviously, people I meet in passing are not going to work for this. But people YOU know would! Even if you know them well, I don't. I need 9 people who are just "regular people". People who might be easy to forget if we didn't take the time to get to know them. I need you to go to those people and ask them if they would be willing to do this.

One photo. Their life captured in one photo.

And all I need to know is if they'd be willing to do it. Share this post with them, and if they are interested, have them message me.

Thanks in advance!

- Daniel

The Sandwich

Jacob White and William Brown worked together at a construction site. One day, Jacob came back from lunch looking a bit frazzled. William noticed his friend's worried mind, and went over to ask him what was up.

BROWN: "My friend, what has you in such a state?"

WHITE: "Oh, it was just awful. I was sitting in the park, eating a sandwich from that new deli I told you about, remember? And when I'd taken the last bite, I felt like I might just close my eyes for a ten-minute snooze. No sooner had I dozed off though, I felt someone kick the bottom of my shoe."

BROWN: "Oh?"

WHITE: "When I opened my eyes, I saw two police officers staring down at me, nightsticks in hand. They made me stand up, hold my hands in the air, and they patted me down from head to toe. They asked if I had been drinking. They demanded my identification, made me state my business in town, and wanted to know where I lived! Honestly, didn't my driver's license already tell them all that? They also asked if I was on probation, had any outstanding warrants, and if I was currently under the influence of illegal drugs."

BROWN: "Mercy."

WHITE: "That's not all! They told me that there had been a lot of "riff-raff" hanging around, and that falling asleep in a public area like this made me look suspicious. One officer searched my wallet, found a photo of my wife, and wanted to know all her information as well. He asked if he could call her and verify all the information I'd given. They asked if I was employed anywhere, and did my boss know I'd been regularly loitering in the city park."

BROWN: "Go on."

WHITE: "I was furious by now, and I spoke out! I said "Am I under arrest? If not, why am I being detained?" The officers gave me angry looks, and said "We can hold you for any reason we see fit. Keep your mouth shut, or we'll take you in for questioning."

BROWN: "Is that so?"

WHITE: "Yes. They finally let me go, but only after making me feel like a criminal when I'd done nothing wrong. A man can't even sit under a tree in a public park and take a nap without being hassled!"

BROWN: "M-hm. Hey, I do have one question."

WHITE: "What's that?"

BROWN: "How was the sandwich?"

~ ~

"Acasă"

Daniel Griswell

Casey Lopez

ENG 101

28 March 2017

"Acasă"

            Vreau să cânt, să visez și să râd, [I want to sing, to dream and to laugh,]

Dar, să nu uit să mă joc câteodată. [But I don't want to forget to play sometimes.]

Și-atunci când în lume voi pleca, [And then when I step into the world,]

Să nu uit să mă întorc acasă. [I don't want to forget to come back home.]†

I want to walk cobblestone streets lined with twisted wrought-iron fences, and hear wind chimes from tiny garden courtyards full of cherry trees. I want to feel the soft breeze dancing through the alleyways of centuries-old apartment homes with hanging window-boxes full of geraniums. I want to hear the voices of children born of Italy, Hungary, Deutschland, Ukraine, Russia, and Romanian heritage, and join in a streetside hand-clapping game that unites all their hands in one common rhythm.

I want to walk pathways beaten down by countless sandaled feet, and watch cows make their sunset march across city streets as BMW, Mercedes, and Dacia Dusters wait patiently for the bovine parade to pass. I want to sit at a table with "familia mea", laughing with a joy born of Heaven, while bowls of supă de pui are followed by delicious sarmale, and hands are joined in prayer for loved ones near and far.

I want to see shepherds sitting on hillsides filled with heather and wheatgrass, and sheep creating a puffy cumulus cloud of wool in constantly shifting shapes. I want to hear church bells from thousand year-old belfrys, and handbells ringing in the chapels and cathedrals. I want to ride in cars driven by 5-speed speed-demons who laugh when you say "Go faster!" I want to sit on the front stoop by the orange pay phone and sip "Apa Minerale" while street dancers with bells on their heels and cymbals on their wrists walk by in a symphony of percussive cadence. I want to hear the language of angels, and the muzica cerului (music of Heaven) from the voices of children in Bistrita, Herina, Șieu, and further up and further in.

While this ever-lingering desire might be like "seeing green horses on the wall", my heart still sings of that possibility. Maybe next time, I can take more of it in. Until then, (if only in my mind,) I won't ever forget to come back home.

"A Calloused Heart"

When I have something to say that is longer than a Facebook status, I usually just make a blog post. Because of length, yes, but also because I know that people who truly want to read deeper will click away from Facebook for a moment, and those who are just there for pictures of puppies and memes about "Can I get an AMEN?" will skip over it.

Now--

You know those stories where a person has been hopelessly lost and confused, or is wounded over something that happened years ago, and then a particular person comes along, says one sentence to them, and it's like a light is thrown upon the darkness and all is made clear? That happened to me this week. A friend said to me:

"You were a burden only for those who didn't make time for you."

To that friend, thank you. You may never know or understand the profound healing that statement had after years of crippling confusion and sadness. I mean it. You unlocked something that I didn't think I would ever be able to make sense of, and you did it with one sentence. Thank you, my friend. ...

(I cried when you said it.)

Anyway...on to the second part of this.

Today in church we sang a praise song than contained in it's lyrics something akin to "Don't let my heart become a calloused heart." I don't remember all the words, because at that moment it was like a little light flickered on. 

I need to say a few things, here. Without being flowery with my words, I'm going to tell you a list of facts about me.

1. My heart is calloused. It just is. I've made it that way over time, not because of wanting it to be, but because I've been blindsided so many times that it's easier to not let people in.

2. If you lock people out, you lock God out also. I've done a pretty good job of that. I love God. I love Jesus. I love serving, but my favorite areas of service have become more "guarded" now to the point that they don't carry the same joy I always had in them.

3. Every Sunday, and many nights in prayer I hit my heart's knees and beg God to break me. Break me from this. Make my heart able to sing again. I want it so desperately, but when I finish praying, I know nothing has changed. My wall is still up.

4. There have been VERY SPECIAL people along the way who have been able to kick a brick loose from that wall at their eye-level, and reach a hand in long enough to give me the hope I need to know that healing is there. My heart is not hardened so much that it can't be helped....because I have felt it "give" a little, here and there.

5. I know that three years ago was where it began. I built myself a wall at that moment. My first wall. Then, a little more than a year ago, I threw up another one. Six months ago, I threw up a third. (And it only takes three walls to box someone in.)

6. My heart is so tired. I have so much more to do in this life, and I am ready for all of it to begin...but my heart is so tired. I used to give it away freely, because as an INFP, I am literally either "all in", or "all out" when it comes to sharing my heart. That part sucks. (And in case you aren't aware, it's not OK for a man to be this type of person...not in the world's eyes. That's not a sexist observation, it's an observation about sexism.)

7. And finally, this: The other day, I was shooting kids' soccer pictures. It was raining that day, off and on. I was under a tent with my camera catching all the action. I saw the kids on the field slipping and sliding on the wet ground as they enjoyed their first game of the season. Coaches were encouraging them. Parents were cheering them on. The ball was being traded back and forth between wet sets of soccer cleats....

..and then, suddenly there was this one little kid who forgot all about the game for a few seconds and reveled in something that truly mattered to her.

I know what I want.

I want to be that kid.

Can I be that kid, please?

<><

**By the way, if you are the parent of that child, please message me. I want to thank you AND her for that moment of clarity.**

A Dozen Roses

This really all began with a photo. Not my photo, though. Any photographer who is unwilling to learn from or be inspired by other photographers is doomed to failure. That morning in particular, I opened my Facebook and saw the photo below:

I knew the moment I saw it I wanted to recreate it with my own style. I wanted the rose to be red, and not quite so "bloomed out", for starters, but the more I thought about it, the more ideas came to mind.

Then I heard a pastor speak one day, and he talked about how when a man gives a woman a dozen roses, it seems like a big thing. But what if instead of giving her a dozen roses, he gave her a rose every day for twelve days? That way, she would smile 12 times instead of just once, and in twelve days, she would still have a new flower in her hand, instead of 12 dead ones.

So my idea was born: "A Dozen Roses". One rose every day, for twelve kids. It cost me the price of two trips to Burger King, and instead of calories, I got 12 smiles in return. (Actually 14, because a couple of these kids had close siblings and I didn't want to leave them out.)

Anna Rae loves horses, and she rides English style. She speaks in a beautiful whisper.

Braylee is a tiny dancer, and her eyes shine like topaz gemstones.

Alleigh's smile lights up the darkest days, and her laughter is like music.

Madison wants to be a supermodel, but she has a goofy side that is only outshone by her cerulean blue eyes. (Yes, they are THAT blue.)

Sierra has had multiple open heart surgeries, and each time her parents were told to say goodbye prior to the procedure. She keeps coming back, and that means God has something important for her to do. I can't wait to see what it is. <><

Callie's parents inspire me every Sunday in church, and Callie herself may be coming around to me. Maybe. Potentially. I think this look speaks volumes about that. <3

Melanie wears her heart on her sleeve, but she also holds a chunk of MY heart in her hands. That baby. Gah. 

Breanna grabbed my hand on the day she met me, and her mom said "She doesn't trust easily. That's crazy that she went to you like that." (All this, and Heaven, too?)

Lily is my parrot. She is too big to do this now, but she used to sit on my shoulder and squawk when I would talk like a pirate and say "And this be me parrot." <3

Charlotte has a quiet force of calm all around her. She has no sweat glands, so she can't get too hot, but it's like she exudes a cool breeze of gentleness from her very spirit.

Kenleigh is not a quiet storm.  She's a true country girl, and she can level you with her eyes.

Brittley's family I literally just met, and yet, when I saw her in her "Little House on the Prairie" dress that Sunday, I knew I wanted hers to be the last rose. 

<>< <>< <><

Twelve roses, twelve little princesses, twelve beautiful smiles afterward.

Wow...that was like, more fun than I ever anticipated starting out!

I think I want to do it again...with a different subject this time.

Maybe "Freckles"...where I choose twelve kids with amazing freckles!

Or maybe "Face of the Valley" with one student from each local high school.

Stay tuned. :D

That's About the Size of It

I'm amazed by how much wisdom I gleaned from three different sources: Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, and Winnie The Pooh.

I've heard pastors in church over the years take one bible verse and expound on it for over an hour in ways I've questioned whether or not God ever intended when He spoke it. Maybe God didn't mean all of that you just said. Maybe when he said the sky was blue, he just meant the sky was blue. (If you want to argue that point, go somewhere else...because this post isn't about that.)

It's about all of us. It's about how God can sometimes use something outside of scripture to impact us every bit as much as something taken straight from Psalm 23.

Cue Sesame Street:

I've got a lot of memories from Sesame Street, but this one little song is my favorite. I had no idea that when I was little and watching this piece (with my Winnie the Pooh cup full of Apple Jacks sitting in my lap) that I was witnessing one of the greatest biblical truths of all time.

In true pastoral form, I'm going to EXPOUND upon the PROFUNDITY that is this song.

"Oh everything comes in its own special size.
I guess it can't be measured by where you put your eyes.
It's so big when you're close, it looks smaller back a bit.
That's about the size of it."

So first, we are talking about how something big can actually look small from far away. The same goes for the world we see on TV. Everything fits neatly into that little square of technology on the wall, but when I traveled to Romania and saw those rolling hills and magnificently painted church ceilings, well...let's just say my heart was physically unable to take it all in without nearly bursting.

Also, sometimes we take something that's kind of pointless and small, and turn it into something huge because we refuse to stand back and look at it from a distance. Maybe there is a man on TV at a podium talking very BIG about things, and he's making you feel very small. Remember, he's no bigger than you are, and actually when it comes to your life...he's pretty inconsequential, all in all. Also, you can do more to impact your world than he ever can. You just have to step out and ACT.

Moving on now.

"Oh the big becomes the little when you see it back a bit.
The huge becomes the dinky, which is just the opposite.
Of the larger that gets smaller it never seems to quit.
That's about the size of it."

Sometimes we look at something and marvel at how big it is. When I was little, I was overwhelmed by my father's height. Now that I am 43 years old, my father is actually a bit shorter than me. Not by much, but I've got a couple of inches on him. It doesn't make him a smaller person, it just changes the perspective.

Also, as a photographer, I've learned that when you take a photo of a child while you are standing up, it makes them look small. If you lie down on the ground and take the same photo, suddenly the child towers over you! The way I prefer to do it is to get down on one knee. Not only does it equalize the height difference, but it connects you on a personal level with the child. You are putting yourself in THEIR place.

They will notice that. It's a pretty big thing. Try it.

"That the big become the little that's the way it seems to go.
That they make up a larger thing is something good to know.
It's nice to know that though we're small there's always room to grow.
And that's about the size of it."

So let's go back to that man at the podium on TV talking very BIG. Now to my father, who looked tall before, but now I see he's actually shorter. Then to that little child you meet on the street. They may seem small, but if you take the time to get down on one knee and listen to them, you'll find that they know stuff you didn't. Big stuff. So big you can't handle it.

(And if you are like me, you'll practically weep when you have to tell them goodbye.)

"That's about the size
Where you put your eyes
That's about the size of it."

We have to be careful not to put too much stock in someone's size. A big man can actually be kind of "dinky" when you step back a bit. A young man can actually get smaller as he gets older, and contrary to scientific research, it's not so much due to his skeleton settling, but is actually because life has begun to weigh him down. Finally, a small child can stand taller than even the most powerful fascist dictator, and if you don't believe that, you need to read "The Boy on the Wooden Box" by Leon Leyson**

In closing, I want to quote two people's words in the area of discussing the size of things we see with our eyes: my grandfather, and Winnie The Pooh. (Both of them were deeper thinkers than many people I've seen in the news today.)

"Sometimes the smallest things take up the most space in your heart." - Winnie the Pooh

"If you want to make a difference in your world, don't shake yout fist at an adult, kneel before a child." - Dannie Jester

That'll preach, right there. <><

**Check out "The Boy on the Wooden Box" on Amazon, here.

Windchimes

Before you read this, if you haven't already, go back and read the first part of this story...otherwise this next part will be a little confusing. Here is the link:

http://capturing-your-heart.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-visitor.html

When I was in Romania three years ago, the family I was staying with had given me an upstairs room, and there was a window that opened to a view of the city's rooftops. In the house across the way, there was a little garden in the back yard, and among it's flowers and vegetables, there was a cherry tree. On one branch hung a set of windchimes, and the soft melody they played was like a constantly evolving symphony composed by Tinkerbell herself. It was such a comforting sound, and one that I have always loved.

Windchimes, that is. I remember my grandmother had several sets strung under the eaves of her porch when I was a little boy, and so their sound evokes a sense of wistful melancholy. A sadness that you can't help but love, if that makes sense. So it was that part of me that dropped $25 on a set one day at a little garden supply store.

There they are. "Festival Wind Chimes" (The only difference is the set I bought was gold instead of green.) I remember walking into that garden supply store only for the purpose of buying some vegetable plants, and there was a set of those chimes hanging in the doorway. Their sound was magnificent...much more resonant than the little cheap sets I'd seen under my grandmother's porch. A large air circulation fan was keeping the store cool, and also creating a constant breeze that kept the chimes in constant motion. I stared at them for a few minutes, and the shop owner said "Pretty, aren't they? We've got them on sale right now, half price. Regular $49.99 on sale for $24.99."

I had to have them!

I asked the clerk if I could have the set in the window, and he said that was fine. He unboxed another set, hung them up in the same place, and took the set I'd been looking at and carefully put them back in the box. I went home, so excited for my porch to now be filled with the sounds I'd heard both in Romania, and in that store just hours earlier.

Boy, was I in for a shock when I hung them up. The chimes didn't move. They stood as motionless as in the stock photo above. I had hung them under the eave of the porch just like my grandmother had, but even though there was a gentle breeze that day, those chimes never moved. I blew on them, and they moved a little...but that was it. Twenty-five bucks down the drain. Of course, I realized that the store had a fan blowing them, but I was not about to put a fan out on my porch and waste electricity just so those stupid chimes would move. So for almost three years now, all they have done is hang there...motionless.

Motionless...until a few days ago, that is. I did a little research, and discovered something: Windchimes are actually a neat little invention. For example, the chimes themselves are actually called "tubes". The little wooden piece that hits the chimes is called the "striker", and that piece that hangs down is called the "sail". What you make the tubes out of (plastic, wood, copper, steel, etc) will determine how the chimes sound. Different types of metal will also create a different sound, as will how they hang by their strings, and what the striker is made from.

We're only going to concern ourselves with the part called "the sail", though. The sail can be made of many different materials, but it's important that the sail be light, and be flat. If the sail isn't light, wind won't be able to move it. If the sail isn't flat, it might move, but not very much.

The sail on my chimes was flat, but it wasn't light at all. It was a chunk of solid oak. It was pretty to look at, but not very functional. I had to make a decision at that point. I either had to get rid of this pointless, heavy sail, or be content with my chimes never making a sound. I thought about it, and gave in. I took the chimes down, cut off the original sail, and made a new one. This one wasn't pretty at all; it was actually made from a piece of plastic sheeting. I'd cut out a square of it, tied it onto the chimes, and hung the chimes back in the same place as before.

And....

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MUSIC!

Going back to my last blog post from before: I have worn a coat of anger, grief, blame, regret, and mourning for almost three years now. I kept it hidden away under a mantle of decorative oak, unwilling to part with it because of how much I had paid for it. I felt like every day that went by where I donned that sorrow anew was valuable, and to let go of it would mean I had given up the thing it had cost me.

My anger was valuable. My blame was strong. My regret was essential. My mourning was necessary.

Only when I realized that the oaken "sail" on my windchimes was expensive and useless, was I able to come to grips with the idea that a cheap, plain sail would actually make my chimes sing. The first step is realizing you've endured a problem for way too long. The next step is recognizing you are better off without it.

Then you have to take off the coat. You have to snip off the old wooden sail. You have to eliminate the idea of "What will other people think?" and realize that unless your sail is light, you'll never be able to make music again. What good is your life without the music you were meant to play?

My first realization: What others think about me in ways that don't matter (such as, in whether or not I wear a tie, drive a new or old car, live in the city or the country, or create art that doesn't fit the "mold") does not matter any more, no matter how much I might care about what they think. Only God matters. That's where freedom begins.

I'm still wearing my coat of anger. I'm not going to pretend the problem is gone. Along the way, other things have happened to me that strengthened that anger, and made me want to lash out at others...even made HATE set in toward some people. People who I felt didn't see how much I was suffering before throwing another coat of mourning over my shoulders.

If you are one of those people who may have seen a flash of that come out against you, I'm so deeply sorry.

Please be patient with me. This is an ongoing journey. And all it took was one knock at the door three years ago.

The Visitor

Three years ago, I was going about my life when an unexpected visitor came knocking at my door. The visitor didn't avail himself when I was in a bad mood or was going through a rough time. (In fact, the days prior to his arrival were filled with joy and promise.) This visitor however, carried chaos in his wake. I opened the door at his friendly knock, and he stood there with a coat under his arm and a smile on his face.

"Hello." he said "Nice to meet you. My name is Anger. Can we talk a moment?"

I must have looked confused, so he said "Terribly sorry, you seem a bit dazed. If you'll just put on this coat, it will become more clear."

I took the jacket from him, and saw a strange tag sewn under the collar. In bright red letters, it read "Blame."

I donned the jacket, and I must say, it fit perfectly. In fact, at that moment, you would have had to wrestle me to the ground if you wanted me to part with it.

Anger said "Goodness me, what a perfect fit...but just look at me, I've completely forgotten to show you it's accessories."

He reached into a carpet bag, and produced a muffler that looked so plush and warm. It matched the jacket perfectly. It looked to be hand-knitted from the finest wool, and woven into the longest end was a single word: "Regret". Anger wrapped it around my neck (a bit tightly for my taste), but truly this was a match like no other in men's fashion.

Anger then took off his own gloves, and said "Can't let you go without these, now can I?" I pulled their supple leather onto my hands, and the warmth and softness was like the deepest luxury a man could experience. Glancing at the stitching along the wrists, I could just make out the name of the manufacturer:  "Mourning".

"That's strange." I said out loud. "Has someone passed away?"

"Oh, quite not." Anger said. "Mourning does not require a death to take place. All it takes is a deep, personal loss. Sometimes, one can even mourn the person they themselves were before the loss took place."

"I see." I said "Well, these are quite nice. All of it is, but I can't afford a wardrobe like this."

Anger smiled and said "Oh, these are complimentary, Sir. I must warn you though, you'll never take them off." and with that, Anger tipped his hat as though he was about to depart. Suddenly, he said "You know, you could definitely use this hat as well."

He took off his hat, and handed it to me. Sewn into the brim was his own name "Anger".

I put the hat on, and a powerful flood of emotions swept over me. I wanted to let out a primal scream of pain, but instead, I hung my head low, turned back inward, and locked the door to the world outside. I was completely under Anger's control.

As the years went on, the coat, scarf, gloves and hat grew heavier and heavier, but I always kept my best face on for those around me as I wore them. Only my closest family saw the weight I was carrying. I pretended to smile when I encountered others, and always did my best to seem happy and full of joy, (as I always had been before Anger's visit), but something new was in my heart now. It lived in me every day.

Anger. Blame. Regret. Mourning.

I didn't like people anymore. Especially adults, like myself. I felt like everyone was waiting to throw another coat over my shoulders, or a scarf around my neck. I didn't trust anyone. Children were the only ones I really let in, because you never have to guess where you stand with a child.

Every night, as I lay down to sleep, I would think about the coat and scarf and gloves and hat. They hung at my bedside, and as soon as dawn broke and the sun rose, I would put them on again.

And thus it has been for three years.

Three long years.

It's a long time to wear this heavy, wearisome set of coordinates, and I would have worn it for who knows how much longer, with no hope of their release in sight.

It took a set of Windchimes to make me realize where the healing must begin.

To be continued...

Born This Way

I recently cut my friend list in half. More than half. I had a friend list of over 1200, and after removing people I never talk with, people who never talk to me, people I didn't remember meeting, people with a blank profile, and people who clearly friended me for no reason, I had whittled it down to around 650. When you trim your friend list like this, something interesting happens. People you haven't heard from in years begin popping up in your feed, and you see even more culling that needs to be done.

I'm now down to just over 500, and it's amazing how peaceful it is when you remove stuff from your life that unnecessarily burdens you. You also end up with more people who will actually care about what you post.

With that being said, let me open this up with this:

This sentiment is often shared on social media. Women are usually the ones to share this quote. Their girlfriends will see it and give them encouragement. Their girlfriends understand. Their guy friends understand also. "She's a woman. She has a right to feel things deeply. That's what women do."

But I have news for you. Guys can be like this also. There are men out there that (like me) feel everything to their very core. If a little kid comes up to them and hands them a flower and says "You're my best friend.", on the outside we smile, but on the inside we are weeping tears of pure joy. Our heart cries out constantly, and it literally cannot be turned off. The world expects men to be able to hide this, though...and if you can't, then you are often labeled as "gay", "effeminate", "weird", or even mentally unstable.

So what do you do when the world expects you to be one way (as social morays dictate) but you are the exact opposite? The answer is simple: You hide. You don't let people in. You spend your life locked inside a mental prison. You don't dare open up to anyone fully, because it will end badly. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but in six months, or a year perhaps, you'll find yourself in a situation that if a woman were in, nobody would think twice about. They'd say "Ah, she's so loving. She has such a sweet heart and spirit. So thankful for her." But as a guy, you find yourself being suddenly ostracized, and when you ask "What's wrong?" you either directly (or indirectly) will have your sexuality or manhood questioned.

So what do we do? That's right, we hide. We withdraw. We gravitate to the tiny group of people who are like us, but even that doesn't work because none of us are truly comfortable with this aspect of our personality, and so meeting others reminds us of the hurt we hold inside. Like a reverse AA meeting, where instead of people with a common problem finding strength together, we are reminded of who we are, and it repulses us because the world has labeled us as mentally deviant from the societal norm.

If you've read this far (which I doubt most have...this blog was mainly for me to use as an outlet for my thoughts, not to share them with others) then I want to share one more thing.

I am an empath. I am the "NF" in Meyers-Briggs. I am in touch with my feminine side...very much so, and I am also straight as an arrow, sexually. I understand what women feel, I understand what children feel, and I don't distance myself mentally from either group...although I am respectful of the need to maintain a healthy physical distance from both.

What I am passionate about is people feeling free to embrace who they are in their heart.

Confession, here. I've cried thousands of times. I've cried a half dozen times in the past month, actually. And by that, I mean I've read or seen something that made tears well up in the back of my throat, and then instead of letting them flow, I push them back.

For example, after loving and reading these books over and over as a child, when I saw this scene play out in the theater when "The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe" was released, I was an emotional basket-case. Little Lucy peered out from behind that silly lamp post, and when she spoke to Mr. Tumnus for the first time, I wept like a baby.

So now you've met me, and you know who I am, and what an emotional hell I go through in my daily life. It's hell, not because it's bad, but because societal morays label it as not appropriate and acceptable for a grown man. I love John Wayne movies as much as anyone, but his character on-screen ruined life for people like me. We feel weak, incomplete, broken, flawed, and most of our peers would say the same if they knew who we were inside.

I've even had people hate me because of this aspect of who I am. I won't go into that, though.

What I do know is that nobody "made" me this way. I wasn't abused as a child. My parents loved me, and they never did anything to hurt me, nor did any of my family, my teachers, or my friends. This is simply who I am.

Translation: I was born this way.

Let that idea sink in. I was born this way.

Like people who are a part of the LGBT community, this was not something I just woke up one morning and decided it might be fun to try. This has been a hard-wired part of my personality and my heart for as long as I can remember.

I was like this when I was 5 years old and my best friend was a girl and I was fighting feelings of being her best friend and wanting desperately to kiss her.

I was like this when I was 10 years old, and this little kid at my church told me that I was his brother now because his brother had died when he was younger and I reminded him of him...and I went home that night and cried into my pillow.

I was like this when I was 15 and I was writing to a girl 800 miles away that I had met on a pen-pal site, and more than anything I wanted to write her until we were both 100 years old. Because she got me.

I've been like this my entire life, and it's who I am. I've been told that this is to be hidden, to be ashamed of, that I am misunderstood, and that the world will not have a place for me as a man if I am this way.

That breaks my heart, but it's also something I will not change. I will not trim myself to fit the world.

And if you are gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender, I love you. I respect you. I identify with you in a way that the world has made me keenly aware of. Do I agree with everything you believe? Probably not, (because I like peanut butter on practically everything, and you probably don't)...but I still respect you. I recognize that you were born feeling this way, and nobody "made you gay" as people who don't understand like to call it.

If you are a member of the LGBT community, you don't have to be afraid of me. I understand. I won't unfriend you. In fact, I might become an even deeper friend if I knew.

On the other hand, if you are a gay-basher, or someone who thinks gays are going to hell because they are gay, or someone who thinks Jesus would hate gay people, or if YOU just hate the LGBT community out of bigotry or spite, please do me a favor right now.

It will only take a second.

Go to your social media account, find me, and click the button that says "Unfriend".

I wish everyone a blessed day.

P.S. -  This also applies if you hate people of different skin color. Ain't nobody got time for that, either.

The Stray

In a quiet neighborhood filled with quaint little houses of all shapes and sizes, there was a small stray dog with floppy ears. He was well on in years, but still had a lot of life left in his bones. He loved the smell of freshly cut grass, he loved to chase after tennis balls, but he loved nothing greater, nor desired anything more than the companionship of the elderly man who lived in the first house on the right.

Every day he would visit the little old man, and he knew there would always be a bowl of food waiting for him, and a scratch behind the ears followed by a "that's a good boy". It was his greatest joy of all.

One day, the little dog trotted up the little old man's walkway, but instead of being greeted in the usual way, a strange man walked out of the front door. He'd seen the man before, when the grandchildren had visited. The man looked sad, and carried his hat in his hands. The dog didn't know it, but the little old man had died in his sleep the night before, and the man he was looking at now was his son. The dog walked over to where his food bowl had always been, but it was empty. He picked it up in his mouth, and walked over to the son, dropping the bowl by his feet.

The man's demeanor changed immediately, and he kicked the dog as hard as he could saying "Get out of here you mutt!" One of the man's children suddenly appeared from around the side of the house, and said "Dad, no! It's just Pepper. He won't hurt anybody!" The little boy ran overt to the dog, and the dog met the boy with happy licks and jumps. The father ran to the dog with anger in his eyes, and snarled "Get out of here and don't come back!" The dog tucked his tail between his legs and ran, dodging rocks being hurled at him. One rock struck his back leg so hard he was knocked off his feet, but he managed to get back up and hobble away. He knew he would never be welcome at his home again.

He spent the night not under the carport of the little old man's house that night like usual, but in the woods behind the house, hidden from view. He saw lights on in the house, and he longed for the companionship he once had. That life was gone now, and nothing would bring it back. He decided the next morning he would try another place to see if anyone else would love an old dog like himself.

When the sunrise came, he woke and trotted down the street to another house. This one was smaller, but it was just as full of possibility. He made his way up the walkway, and before he could even cross the threshold of the patio, he heard a child's voice say "Look a dog! Maybe he needs a home!" Three more children followed, and before he was even aware of it, he was happily playing fetch with the four kids.

It seemed like the world would not be so bad after all, when the back door opened. A woman walked out and yelled "What are you doing? Where did that dog come from? He might have fleas! Get away from him!" Then a man appeared behind her with a pellet gun, and aimed it at the dog. The dog had never seen a gun before, but when the first red-hot sting hit his shoulder, he fled the yard with such speed that he never looked back at the children or the mother and father. All he heard was the man yell "Call animal control!"

That night, the dog slept in the same woods he'd used the night before, the world looked quite darker now, and with less promise of a new day tomorrow.

The next few days the dog did not reappear. He was afraid of what he might find, so he stayed hidden away in the grove of trees he's used night after night. He had never learned to find food in the woods, so as the days went by he grew hungrier and hungrier.

One morning, he was in such pain from days of hunger that he felt he must try again. He trotted down the road, scampering into the woods whenever a car would pass by. At a tiny house at the end of the cul-de-sac was a man in his front yard raking leaves. The man saw the dog, and how hungry he looked. He went into his house, found a bowl and some leftover chicken scraps from the day before, and walked back out to where the dog was standing. He held the bowl out to the dog, and the dog slowly walked forward. The dog could smell the chicken, sense the welcome relief from his hunger, and the promise of a new day ahead of him...

But at the last second, he remembered the "crack" of the large rock that had struck his back leg. He remembered anew the boot of the man who had kicked him, and the horrific memory of the bullet that had singed his shoulder days before. Without warning, he growled at the man and backed away. The man put the bowl down on the ground, and knelt down next to it, holding his hand out gently. The dog slowly approached the bowl, and began eating. The man carefully petted the dog's head, but instead of a wagging tail, the dog reacted with a jump, a savage growl, and bared teeth.

The man picked up the bowl, looked down at the dog and said "Crazy animal! What's your problem? I was only trying to feed you!"

The man walked back into the house, and the dog went back into the woods.

The only place where he knew what the score would be.

The Man With No Coat

A group of people were to attend a celebration dinner at a huge Victorian mansion. The dinner was being held to honor a man who had done great work for charity, including the homeless and the poor.

As the people in the party walked toward the mansion, one man in the group noticed a beggar just outside the gates holding a small tin cup. The beggar had no coat, and was shivering. The man took pity on the beggar, and took off his own coat and gave it to him. He then took off his tie as well, and gave it to him also. The beggar smiled, and said "May God bless you, sir."

As the group entered the mansion, the butler who was taking everyone's coats saw the man who had given up his coat, and said "Where is you coat and tie, sir?" The man with no coat explained he had given the coat and tie to the beggar outside the gate, and that he was fine without them. The butler sneered at the man, and said "You can't eat in the grand dining room of the Master's home without a coat and tie." The others who had come for the party frowned at him also, and promptly turned away from him.

The butler escorted the man with no coat to one of the bathrooms, and said he would be served there instead of at dinner. He locked the man with no coat inside. A little while later, the door was unlocked and a young servant boy came in with a platter of food. The food looked like it had been scraped from the plates of others, many items had bites taken out of them, and everything all was mixed together. The servant said "Enjoy your food.", then scraped all of it onto the floor at the man's feet. With a laugh, he walked out of the bathroom without locking the door back behind him.

The man without a coat was so confused, angry, and upset. All he had done was try to do a good thing, and now he was being treated like an outcast. He walked out of the bathroom, and followed the sounds of music and voices until he found the dining hall. As he walked in, he saw all the other party members laughing and making merry. They were busy enjoying cocktails and cake after dinner.

The man with no coat strode over to the couple who had originally organized the celebration for the Master of the house, and tried to confront them. One of them, a man with a coat and tie, pretended he did not see the man with no coat, and ignored everything he tried to say to him. So the man with no coat found the other person in charge, this one a woman, and when she behaved the same way, the man with no coat was so infuriated that he forgot himself, and yelled at the woman "Why are you doing this to me?!"

At that, everyone fell silent.

At the head of the table was the man who was being celebrated that day for his acts of charity. He  stood up, and walked over with an angry look in his eyes. He demanded to know "What is the meaning of all this?" After hearing everything, he looked at the man with no coat and said "You dare speak like this to a woman in my house, and my guest as well?"

The man with no coat was put in chains, and led to the bottom floor where he was locked in a cell. A short time later, the same food that had been scraped onto the bathroom floor was dumped at his feet again, this time by the jailer, landing just within the reach of the cell bars that held him. As the jailer walked away with his keys jingling in his hand, he turned and looked at the man with no coat and said:

"Honestly, sir. You can't just go giving your coat away."

Like Herding Cats

We have a cat, and his name is Rusty. He's 13 years old now, and for as long as I can remember, he has been afraid of me. 

It all goes back to ten years ago. A bad storm was coming through, and tornado sirens began going off. The word from the news station was a tornado had touched down less than a mile from our home. We lived in a manufactured house, so I wanted to leave until the storm passed. Our other cat quickly allowed herself to be scooped into her pet carrier. Rusty however, afraid of the storm, hid under our bed. I did everything I could to coax him out, but he refused to move. I finally made the choice between his life and his comfort, and I chased him out with a broom. For the next few minutes, I pursued him all over the house trying to get him into the carrier. He would dart under the table, then under the sofa, then back to the bed. There was no time for gentle, sweet words with a few cat treats in hand. He needed to be caught, and caught THEN. 

After chasing him all over the house numerous times, he was panting and beginning to drool. I finally threw a blanket over him and shoved him (kicking and clawing) into the pet carrier. We left quickly, and after a few hours away, the "all clear" had finally been given. The storm had passed. Rusty however, was permanently traumatized. He has never gotten over the man who chased him all over the house. Now, cats don't have memories like humans. He probably doesn't remember being chased by me, or the storm, or any of that. What he does believe, (and remember) is that for some reason, I am to be feared, and ultimately not trusted. He will climb up in my lap and allow himself to be petted if I am sitting down, but if I walk into the room, he will often dart away, looking back over his shoulder several times to make sure I am not in pursuit with a broom in hand. 

It occurred to me today during my quiet time that Rusty is a lot like we are as God's people. God saw the storm coming, and he said "Please, I'm trying to save you. You don't know what you are doing. You're going to be hurt. This is a dangerous thing you are heading toward. Please, I beg you. Come to me and be safe. I will make sure you are not harmed." Our reaction (all too often) is to run away from Him. We see his attempts to save us as being unpleasant, and we believe He is trying to take away our comfort. We are happy where we are, safely hidden under the bed. We have no idea the dangers that lurk outside our pitiful little "comfort zone". God sees the storm coming; he knows what will happen to us if he leaves us to our own means.

Consider this for a moment. If I had just given Rusty a bath, and when he got out of the bathtub I tried to dry him off, but he clawed away from me and ran under a table, that would be cause for me to say "Well, if he wants to run away, he can just be cold for a little while until he dries himself." God does this to us as well. If we want to go our own way, but it's not a HUGE mistake we are making, God will often let us run, so that through the process, we might learn what is best for us. Other times though, like the tornado coming through, God knows He must get us away, and get us away quickly.

Recently, God had to do this to me. He had to get me away. He knew I would not want to follow, and that I would hide under the bed. He was prepared for the chase, and he knew that when He caught me, that I would go clawing and kicking at Him before I would be safely carried away. He also knew that when I was finally home, the "home" would not look the same to me. It would be safer than it was during the storm, but I would be angry with Him for shoving me into my pet carrier when I would have preferred to stay in my little hidey-hole.

This is a teaching moment for me, and it should be one for all of us. Maybe you feel like God is trying to tear you up by the roots. Maybe you want to stay in your comfort zone, but His powerful arms are doing (what seems like) everything in His power to tear you away from the happy little place that you hold so dear. 

If this is you...if you hear this story and think "Wow, that's where I am right now. Holy Schnicklefritz!" then I want you to take heart. God's ways are higher. His mind is deeper. His heart is braver. And he is GOOD. 

Am I healed from my trauma? (You know, the one I mentioned earlier.) Well, like our cat, when things are calm and happy, I do love to hop up in God's lap and love on Him. Still, I am always on my guard. In my small mind, I'm afraid the same thing will happen again. So I am always looking over my shoulder, imagining monsters that aren't even there. God loves me enough to wait me out, though. The storm has passed, and He sits quietly, waiting for me to love Him without holding back.

In Psalm 3, David feels uncertain and afraid. But even in the face of all he has endured, he knows the power of God's arms, and the comfort of God's spirit:

"You, O Lord are a shield for me. My Glory, and the One who lifts my head up high." ~ Psalm 3:3 

We need not be afraid of His love. But part of being His child is that He will often protect you from a particular harmful situation at all costs. Maybe it's from a terrible financial move. Maybe it's from a person who means to do you harm. Maybe it's just from yourself. When those times happen, remember, His love remains no matter how much you may fight it. And when the storm passes, He is waiting to love you through the aftermath, and show you where He has taken you safely home.